


Finding Voice

by The_Blister_Pearl_Lady



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Female Harry, Female Harry Potter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-05
Updated: 2018-10-05
Packaged: 2019-07-25 18:45:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16203452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Blister_Pearl_Lady/pseuds/The_Blister_Pearl_Lady
Summary: Juniper Potter doesn't speak. She can. She just doesn't. Throughout a whole book of her childhood she struggles to find her voice, but after that there is Hogwarts to think of. Fem Harry.Characters will be tagged as they begin to majorly feature.





	Finding Voice

Albus Dumbledore put his wand to his temple. He pulled out a swirling strand of silvery liquid-vapor memory, and dipped it into the carved stone basin on the desk before him. The memory swirled around inside the basin already filled with other memories.

Dumbledore swirled his long fingers around inside the Pensieve and the memory was called forth. Sybil Trelawney’s head appeared floating above the basin, her eyes rolling and her mouth sagging, croaking out the words in a deep and hoarse voice most unlike her usual one:

_The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches… born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies… and the Dark Lord shall mark the child as his equal, but the child shall have power the Dark Lord knows not… and neither can remain living while the other clutches for survival… The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies…_

“This could refer,” said Dumbledore softly, “to either a single boy being born to the Order of the Phoenix, or a single girl being born to the Order of the Phoenix. The boy is a Pureblood, making him the most likely candidate. What, after all, would Lord Voldemort want with a Halfblood girl…?

“Except Lord Voldemort used to be a Halfblood boy named Tom Riddle - a fact few people even among his followers know… And would the girl’s gender actually make her more likely to be a target, I wonder…? Could Lord Voldemort simply not stand the idea of people talking if he were bested by a young girl?

“Either way, Severus Snape only heard the first part of the Prophecy. Which means the rest - the marking of the equal - will probably be fulfilled. Then we will know which child he has chosen as his enemy for certain.

“One line of the Prophecy makes me curious. The rest of it seems straightforward enough. Lord Voldemort accidentally hand-picks his perfect enemy, marks them as his equal, and they grow to defeat him through the only power he has not - love, trust, compassion, and care for others. It seems straightforward.

“But this one line: _Neither can remain living while the other clutches for survival._ It is an odd way to put it, but prophecies are always specific. If the Prophecy solely meant that one would end up killing the other… why not just say that…? After all, the rest does not speak of killing Tom Riddle. It merely speaks of vanquishing the Dark Lord Voldemort - of having the power to do so. A power I theorized to be love.”

Dumbledore frowned down at Sybil Trelawney’s floating head above the Pensieve basin.

“Either way, I will have to warn them,” he said softly. “Frank and Alice Longbottom and their coming son, Neville Longbottom.

“And Lily and James Potter, and their coming daughter: Juniper Elizabeth Potter… Already being known as June…”

-

**Finding Voice**

**Book One: Childhood**

-

Chapter One: Arguments Made and Speaking Letters

Petunia and Vernon Dursley sat in their living room over tea one evening after the children had gone to bed. The suburban Muggle house was spacious, white, and modernistic with swirling glass light fixtures, but the scene was not as perfect as it appeared at first glance.

Petunia was standing, infuriated and frustrated, in her living room with her hands on her hips, staring into the red-brick fireplace with the shining mahogany mantle. Vernon sat in an armchair behind her, his head in his hand.

 _“Damn_ that girl!” Petunia suddenly spat out. “I can’t even hate her properly!”

“Petunia -“ Vernon began.

“She invades our home as a toddler with a ridiculously common name like _June,_ a lightning bolt scar on her forehead fresh from watching the murder of her parents and accidentally defeating some great _Lord._ And to top it all off, we’re told that she defeated the Lord because her mother, my _sister,_ refused to stand aside and instead chose to shield her beloved child from a Killing Curse. Her daughter was thus protected from any touch of this _Dark Lord’s,_ and that’s how the Curse bounced off her forehead and hit him.

“And everyone acts like we really have a _choice_ at that point - as to whether or not we take in this toddler girl when we’re her only living relatives. How exactly was I supposed to refuse such a position and not feel guilty about it for the rest of her life? They guilt-tripped me! In a damn _note!_

“But I don’t want her here! I hate her world, I hate everything it stands for!”

“I agree,” said Vernon. “I have nothing personal against the girl. I hated her father, but it is easier to see her as Lily’s daughter than as James’s son. She doesn’t even look that much like him: Tiny and petite, with a heart-shaped face with delicate French features and high cheekbones and vivid almond-shaped bright green eyes much like Lily’s. Her wild curls of black hair look more feminine than James Potter’s hair did. She has his Greek skin tone and his black hair color, she has the Potter knobby and dimpled knees, and she needs glasses like him, but none of that automatically adds up to someone who looks just like James Potter - especially with differently shaped glasses, broader and more angular and circular with darker frames. She doesn’t viscerally remind me of her father every time I look at her.

“No, I have nothing personal against Juniper Potter.

“But I hate her world - its freakishness, its alien nature - just as much as you do. We promised, didn’t we? That we’d stamp the magic out of her? That was our promise, in return for your request to honor your sister’s sacrifice and take her in.”

“And yet… when I look into her eyes… I see my sister,” Petunia whispered, vulnerable for a moment. “My baby sister… back before that _cursed_ magic separated us.”

“And I see an innocent little girl,” said Vernon sadly. “One who hasn’t done anything wrong. Furthermore… one who can’t speak.”

Petunia sat down suddenly. 

“Of all things… even with watching her parents die in front of her, I never expected June to be a mute,” she said quietly. “I mean… she’s intelligent. She understands language, it’s obvious, so why doesn’t she speak?! She’s just so _young._ So young I thought foolishly that what happened wouldn’t have affected her.

“She’s perfectly bright. She just _doesn’t speak._ What are we supposed to do with that?! We don’t even really understand what happened to her! We’re not - like them!

“And it doesn’t help… that I _want_ to treat her and dress her up like a daughter,” Petunia admitted quietly, head lowered. “Because I’ve always wanted one. And all we have ourselves… is Dudley. A son. Someone I don’t want to feel overlooked in favor of the magical one in the house, the way I did.

“I don’t know what to _do…”_

-

Arabella Figg, local little old cat lady babysitter in big knit shawls, watched hunched-over as Petunia Dursley watched her son Dudley and her niece June play together on the sunny front lawn. The two women were standing in the doorway, watching. Petunia was frowning, troubled.

Dudley suddenly shoved June and she fell onto the grass crying. Petunia rushed over. “No!” she said sharply over Dudley’s fussing. “No! We’re a good little boy and we don’t hit girls, do you understand that?!”

After a couple of minutes of putting up with Dudley’s fussing tantrum, Petunia went back to the doorway beside Arabella. June was now playing with flowers and grass around her from her seated perch.

“We’ve started having to learn sign language for the blasted girl,” said Petunia disapprovingly, hands on her hips. “We’re teaching her the same. A mute. Really,” she added, as though June had anything to do with it.

Arabella watched Petunia hawkishly, eyes piercing. “I’ve been watching you and that girl, Petunia. You and Vernon Dursley are quite torn, aren’t you?”

Petunia gave her an uncomfortable sideways glance. “Why should you have anything to do with it?” she said, sharply and disapprovingly.

Arabella took a chance.

She looked around. “No one can know I told you this,” she whispered. “But I’m one of _them._ Someone born to wizarding parents without magic. I was planted here by Dumbledore. To _watch_ you.”

Petunia had gone white.

“I’m telling you this, against his wishes,” said Arabella intently, “because I think I see a chance for you two and that girl. And I think I can help.”

Petunia Dursley’s eyes worked as she stared at Arabella Figg. “Wait here until Vernon gets home from his corporate job,” she said sharply. “Then the three of us are talking in the kitchen.”

It was the kind of commanding tone one didn’t exactly say no to.

-

“I don’t like the idea of being spied on!” Vernon was booming in the kitchen later that night.

“It was not my idea, I assure you,” said Arabella dryly, not quite as dotty and vacant as she had been before. “Dumbledore is… paranoid. Controlling. But he seems nice.”

“So why do you follow him?” said Petunia curiously.

“Because he’s good at winning wars for the side focused on compassion,” said Arabella simply, shrugging. “But there is a reason he always turns down the position of being Minister for Magic. Sometimes he is too manipulative for his own good. I think he _wants_ that girl to have an awful childhood, in a sick way. I think he’s _molding_ her.

“Well I refuse to go along with that, if I have a chance to have a say.

“There are two things you need to know. First, in one way you are doing nothing wrong. Dumbledore wanted for the girl not to know about her magic and her past until she was much older. She is famous in our world. He wanted her to have an ordinary Muggle childhood safely away from all of that.

“But here’s the catch: You can’t stamp out magic.

“People have tried. What is created is something called an Obscurial: an angry, malevolent being made of suppressed pure, Dark magic. I take it you don’t want something like that in your house?” said Mrs Figg dryly.

Petunia and Vernon paled. “No,” said Vernon in a hushed voice. “No, we don’t want that. So we leave the magic… to its own devices…? But I don’t want a witch in my house!” he thundered.

“Right. Because they’re ‘freaks.’ Have you ever bothered to get to know anything about the world you call freakish, Mr Dursley?” said Mrs Figg.

Vernon paused with his mouth open.

“We are much like the Muggle world, with some modifications making room for magic. Our world has, amongst other things, a government, laws, newspapers, politics, banks, small businesses, schooling, career paths, pubs, restaurants, shops, and modes of transport. We even have a prison. And our magic has laws, just as science does. We have our own brand of nature-based and magic-based religion, and it has absolutely nothing at all to do with Satan. 

“There are perfectly reasonable explanations for most of our differences, as well. For example, magic shorts out strong electricity, so our world tends to be more old-fashioned and to find magical methods of working around where technology would be.

“We are only ‘freaks’ to you, Mr Dursley, because you have never taken the time to understand us yet,” Mrs Figg finished succinctly.

Vernon Dursley’s mouth was still open, but he slowly closed it. “Put it that way and it doesn’t sound so bad…” he admitted slowly, morbidly fascinated. “But - your people kill each other, don’t they?”

“Not usually. The Blood War was a civil war. And your in-laws died fighting on the side of it that was trying to protect - well, people like you,” Mrs Figg finished softly. “What we call Muggles.”

Vernon Dursley had suddenly gone completely still and silent.

Finished with Vernon, Arabella turned to Petunia, who had gone very pale.

“You, Petunia. You say you want Dudley not to feel ignored, the way you did. Is this not the perfect opportunity to make June and Dudley what you and your sister were not - _equals,_ in the eyes of their parents?

“Are you not just doing to June, right now, what your parents did to you? Spoiling your son and hating your daughter?”

Petunia fumed, angry tears in her eyes. “This is all irrelevant,” she hissed. “You’ll never get me to like her. Because the same thing will happen in the end anyway. She’ll get sent a letter by that boarding school for training wizards and witches, and she’ll just _leave -!”_

“Your sister left. But June is not your sister. She’s your child. You could be more involved - finally find a place for yourself in that world. A mother’s place in a witch’s life is not the same as a sister’s,” said Arabella quietly, watching Petunia piercingly.

“You suggest… that I live vicariously through her?” Petunia sneered bitterly.

“Isn’t it better than the alternatives?” said Arabella simply, steady. “Especially since you said you wanted a daughter anyway…”

Petunia frowned - and turned reflexively to the place outside the kitchen where she knew June to be.

“So let’s recap,” said Arabella firmly. “Rambunctious and game-obsessed Dudley can’t hit June because she’s his sister figure and it wouldn’t be right and proper. 

“June can’t be spoiled. Her magic can’t be stamped out, either. The Potters died defending people like you, and Lily died for her child - you would be honoring those sacrifices by taking her in and protecting her. Because you are blood relations to Lily, in this home her protection extends to your entire place of residence. Here, June is safe.

“Vernon has no personal problems with June. He has begun to suspect that the wizarding world is a bit more normal than he first thought, more reasonable with laws governing what is and is not done.

“Petunia sees June as a connection to her late baby sister. In addition, she always wanted a daughter. This is her chance to live vicariously through her daughter’s magic, and it is also her chance to make June and Dudley what she and her sister were not - true equals, neither one spoiled and neither one ignored.

“Did I miss anything?” said Arabella succinctly. “Any arguments left against treating her well and treating Dudley more normally?”

The Dursleys were silent, troubled.

“In that case, I would be willing to help you raise this girl,” said Arabella Figg sharply. “First things first: She is for now a perfectly intelligent mute.

“So we all must learn and teach her sign language… And I would recommend taking her to see a personality psychologist. This person would assess her behavior and tell you what she’s like as a personality and a person.

“Perhaps, through the right things she enjoys, we might be able to get June’s voice to come out.”

-

“I strongly suspect the girl is an ISFP,” said the personality psychologist, having come back over to the group of three adults in the office with a big blue rug covered in kid’s toys. He had just left June to play silently with some blocks on the floor by herself.

“What the bloody hell does that mean?” Vernon asked bluntly. “I don’t speak letters.”

“Let me try to explain,” said the personality psychologist. “ISFP stands for introvert, sensory, feeling, perception. This means the girl becomes drained instead of energized around social interactions, and will only speak when she has something worthwhile to say. She is grounded in the physical world, not the abstract world of the mind, making her a bit more troublemaking together with the spontaneous element. She listens to her heart, not her head. And she prefers to explore and be spontaneous, instead of be scheduled and come to decisions.”

“Figures,” Petunia muttered. “Absolutely nothing like what we’d want her to be.”

“But June has her own unique gifts,” said the personality psychologist, softly but firmly. “ISFPs are a particularly interesting personality type. They are not showmen, but they are obscenely good at creating art itself behind the scenes. This does not mean merely traditional art.

“Anything in the world of the senses, ISFPs are particularly good at. They have unusually keen senses and are excellent at everything from physical movements to colors, tastes, sounds, and textures. In musical terms, they are the composers or the studio musicians. They create gracefully, spontaneously, and can work away for hours at something they love with no thought as to ever getting tired. They are in fact so quiet and so good at creating that they do not express themselves very well verbally or in person - it is through some physical or culinary or creative art that you truly see them.

“It is not uncommon for young ISFPs to encounter a breach with language.

“In other words, I suspect that your ticket to finding this girl’s voice will be to allow her to express herself creatively first - in as many ways as possible. She may very well make sound in order to sing, for example, or say lines. Especially as she seems very intelligent and language-ready, and there is nothing wrong with her vocal cords. From there, it is a simpler jump to -“

“Normal speech,” said Petunia, cottoning on.

“It should be added that ISFPs are some of the most unconditionally kind people in the world. Despite their quiet, no one will find a kinder heart. They are unusually at home in nature, love animals, and as adults they tend to be especially good with children.

“So perhaps getting her involved with animals might be a good emotional bolster for her as well. Animals tend to be a very healing experience. You say she has suffered trauma? Animals, especially for people who can’t speak, offer a very rare kind of unconditional emotional support.

“In addition to her lessons in sign language, these would be my recommendations.”

The Dursleys and Mrs Figg looked thoughtful…

-

Later, with the children playing beyond them, the three adults sat at the kitchen table at their wealthy home before hobby signup sheets and they made their plans.

“Our goal is to keep her busy,” said Petunia. “Something every day of the week. If she can only express herself through art, she’ll be doing it all the time.”

“And that’s that,” Vernon added firmly. Their stern suburban Muggle nature shone through here. “She has a brand-new big upstairs bedroom to work from, and we’re putting it to good use.”

“Animal shelter on Monday,” said Petunia, scribbling. “I refuse to have any pets in my nice, clean, neat house, ruining my flower beds and my prized puddings, so she’ll need animals another way.”

“Everyone at that shelter is a vegetarian hippie,” Vernon muttered. “I’m too much of a traditionalist when it comes to politics and business - I _hate_ vegetarian hippies.” He was grumbling to himself.

“Yes, well, she is a witch, and perhaps she’ll learn some new cooking recipes,” said Petunia with ruthless efficiency. “Combined with Arabella’s cheerful obsession with magically intelligent cats, that should be enough to tide her over when it comes to animals. 

"Tuesday is a combined photography and fashion class. 

“Most of these combined arts classes are at the local Surrey Center of the Arts for Children. She’ll be spending a great deal of time there - hopefully meeting people, though with her lack of speech at first it’s doubtful…”

Petunia frowned, troubled.

“Might be a good incentive for her to start speaking. She has to meet people eventually,” Vernon reminded Petunia, shrugging. “She’ll mostly listen and work, but she’ll take a white-board with her in case she needs to ask a question. Simple. All the children by this age at least know basic letters, and God knows I hope the teachers do. They don’t need sign language, the way we do. She’ll be fine.”

“Very well, then.” Petunia shook herself and went back to her scribbling and planning. “Wednesday is a combined baking and tea-brewing class. Thursday is figure skating and dance. Friday is music and poetry. Saturday is painting and drawing. Sunday is… you’re sure about this one?” Petunia looked over at Arabella Figg, who had mostly been watching sharply and patiently in silence.

“Yes,” said Arabella firmly. “Acting is an obvious one, but I thought the other part of the combination was interesting. Projecting oneself in a different way, as a form of hypnosis over others…

“It’s almost magical itself, really.

“And if she wanted to, these could all carry over into her Hogwarts School years theoretically. Cut out animals and tea and you even have two possible days a week for one other Hogwarts School hobby. She could simply ask for private wizarding tutoring in these arts and do shows and competitions in the wizarding world from there.

“But that’s not really the point. Our hope,” she reminded the Dursleys, “is that in each of these hobbies she’ll find an individual voice. First an artistic voice… in shows and competitions as well as classes…

“Then, eventually, find an actual physical voice.

“This is June’s story now. This is Juniper Potter’s journey to finding her voice after the trauma of what has happened to her - and only as a side note is the story about the ordinary family struggling with itself to raise her…”


End file.
